


Objectification

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Soul Eater, Soul Eater Not!
Genre: Animate Object, Established Relationship, Grinding, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-01 04:51:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2760239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'I thought you wanted me in weapon form?' Clay says, his voice shivering and husky like it only ever gets for Akane." Akane has a kink and a great idea and Clay gives in without much resistance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Objectification

“This is a terrible idea, Akane.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is the best idea I have ever had, and you know how excellent my ideas generally are.”

Clay misses a step, has to stumble into a jog to catch back up. “ _What_? No, your ideas are  _terrible_ , this one  _especially_  so. You can’t -- this is  _objectification_ , Akane.”

Akane laughs. “I’m not reducing you to anything, Clay. I like you just the way you are.” He slows his stride, glances back so he can catch at Clay’s wrist where he has it folded over his arms. It barely takes any effort to pull him loose, even if the blond’s forehead creases in frustration at the movement. He still lets Akane fits their fingers together, tightens his hold on the other boy’s hand as they round the corner to their apartment. “ _All_  the ways you are. It’s a compliment.”

“It is  _not_ ,” Clay protests. His thumb slides up, trails unconscious affection against the inside of Akane’s wrist. “You’re never going to get me to agree to this, and you can’t unless I transform for you.”

“Have you considered the telepathy?” Akane asks.

Clay stumbles over his feet again. Akane tugs at his wrist to pull him back to balance, glances back at the blond so he can see the dawning realization come over his features.

“Goddamn,” Clay says, sounding as awed as he does horrified.

Akane doesn’t try to strip the sultry undertone from his laughter.

Clay moves faster once he’s recovered his footing, falling into step with Akane so by the time they make it into the door of their apartment he’s nearly leading, does actually get himself through the door first. Akane lets himself be drawn over the entrance, is still grinning when Clay pushes him back against the wall as he kicks the door shut behind them.

“You could have started with that,” he says against Akane’s hair, his breath warm against the other boy’s skin even before he presses in close enough to kiss at his cheek.

“True,” Akane agrees. “But it’s fun to watch you squirm.” He’s laughing when Clay whines protest at him, still smirking when he tips his head up to distract the weapon with a kiss. Clay whimpers against his mouth, but the tension in his shoulders bleeds into compliance before Akane curls his fingers around the knot of the other boy’s tie and starts to slide it loose.

He makes it as far starting to tug the fabric free entirely before Clay puts together a complaint. The blond pulls back from Akane’s mouth, his forehead creased into confusion but his mouth bruised-pink and open on his breathing so it’s hard for Akane to focus on what he’s saying rather than the way his lips move around the words.

“I thought you wanted me in weapon form?” he says, his voice shivering and husky like it only ever gets for Akane.

“I do.” Akane slips the tie free, drops it to puddle forgotten on the ground. “Take your shoes off.”

Clay laughs, a little breathless and a little confused, but he reaches out to steady himself on Akane’s shoulder, to hold his balance while he lifts a foot to push his shoe free. Akane doesn’t wait for him; he’s halfway down the buttons of the other boy’s shirt by the time Clay is kicking his second shoe off, tugging the white fabric free of the blond’s slacks as he gets his feet back under him and reaches out to fumble at the button of Akane’s jacket. Akane has the advantage of time and skill on his side; he’s pushing Clay’s shirt off his shoulders before the weapon can manage to finish unfastening the pair of buttons holding the meister’s jacket closed.

“This isn’t that different than usual,” Clay points out, letting his hold go so he can shrug out of his shirt and let Akane push it to the floor. “I mean, at least you waited until we were at  _home_.”

Akane hums satisfaction at the flush of memories the comment evokes, closes his fingers around the bottom edge of the blond’s undershirt so he can tug him in closer and turn his head to kiss the warm gold of skin against the line of his shirt collar. “There’s no need to rush,” he says against the blond’s collarbone so Clay shivers and tips his head sideways for him. “Patience, Clay.”

There’s the thrum of laughter under the other boy’s skin, fingers curling against the open edges of Akane’s jacket. “I can’t believe  _you’re_  trying to lecture me on patience.”

“Trying and succeeding,” Akane corrects before he leans back so he can strip Clay’s shirt up and off his chest. The blond lets his hold go, obediently lifts his hands so Akane can pull the fabric off his shoulders before he’s coming back in with a whole expanse of bare skin to draw Akane’s fingers in to him.

“I’m not sure why we’re stripping  _me_ ,” he says, sounding curious more than protesting. “It’s not like it’ll make a difference, right?”

“It’ll make a difference when you change back,” Akane says. Clay makes a faint strangled sound and Akane hooks his fingers into the other boy’s belt, slides sideways so he can move towards the bedroom. He knows this route well enough that he can take it backwards, drag Clay in his wake by his hold on the other boy’s belt while he watches the blond’s cheeks flush red as he considers the implications of this statement.

He’s just about collected coherency back around himself by the time Akane reaches the edge of the bed and tugs him around to invert their positions. “You want me to change  _back_?” He sounds perplexed, lost and too confused to catch up as Akane slides the buckle on his belt loose and starts in on the button of his slacks. “But I thought I was supposed to be in weapon form.”

“You will be.” The zipper slips loose, Akane trails his fingers against the top edge of Clay’s pants so he can catch at the blond’s boxers and slacks at once. “I’ll tell you what to do, Clay, don’t worry.”

“You  _always_  tell me what to do,” Clay whines in mock protest, but he shifts his hips to aid in Akane’s efforts to slide his clothes off, at least until they start to slide down his thighs. Then he seems to realize all at once how little he’s wearing, starts to flush and wail a protest as he grabs at Akane’s wrist to stop his motion. “Wait,  _stop_ , why are  _you_  still wearing clothes and I’m not?”

“Because you haven’t been paying attention.” Akane tugs at Clay’s hold and the blond lets him go; he drops to a knee in front of the weapon, slides his clothes down to his ankles before tapping at his leg. “Step.”

“This isn’t fair at all,” Clay points out without any real fire in his voice as he slides his feet free. “You know I like you without clothes on too.”

“Patience,” Akane croons, bringing his weight up over his knees so he’s on level with Clay’s waist. When he shuts his eyes he can feel the tiny flutter of adrenaline under the weapon’s skin, the shudder of anticipation even before he parts his lips so he can touch his tongue just against the weapon’s stomach.

Clay groans, tips his hips forward involuntarily; his fingers catch at Akane’s hair, there’s a sound awfully like “ _Akane_ ” pitched high and half-panicked, and Akane starts to smile even though Clay can’t see his expression. He braces himself against the blond’s hips, holds them in balance with each other while he trails a path down, across the taut strain in Clay’s stomach and over the edge of his hip until he can tip his chin down to take the first inch of the blond’s cock past his lips. Clay tastes familiar, salt and summer-warm glow on Akane’s tongue, and the sound he makes is familiar too, gasping encouragement as he tips forward enough to fall if not for Akane’s steadying hold.

Akane doesn’t intend to spend as long on his knees as his does. He only planned to take a moment, just slick his tongue warm against Clay’s cock to get the bitter tang of salt on the back of his tongue before he shoves him to the bed. But he gets distracted somewhere amidst the shudder of reaction under his fingertips and purring through Clay’s throat, ends up looking up through the shadow of his hair to see the blond’s expression melting out of coherence while he slides his mouth down farther, deeper, starts to fall into a rhythm without thinking about it.

It’s Clay who pulls Akane back from the pleasant ache in his jaw and the twitch of the other boy’s length against his tongue. He takes a breath, quick and desperate like he’s actively trying to compose himself -- Akane doesn’t slow, it’s far too fun to keep Clay off-balance -- before he manages, “I thought you wanted…?”

“Mm,” Akane hums before he slides away and licks the moisture off his lower lip. “Good point.” Clay is whimpering at the loss of contact but he moves to the bed when Akane pushes at his shoulder, climbs over the sheets and turns back quickly enough that Akane is only just shrugging his uniform jacket off.

“Can I --” the weapon asks, reaching to close his fingers around himself in place of Akane’s mouth, and Akane shakes his head in quick negation as he unclips his tie pin and starts to work on the knot.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Clay?” He drapes the tie over the back of the desk chair, perhaps takes longer on the buttons of his shirt than he needs to just to watch Clay’s mouth twist into a frown of want. He’s just stripping his undershirt off when Clay shifts, rocks his weight over the sheets and starts to say, “ _Akane_ ” in the strained tone that means his patience really is wearing thin.

“Okay, okay,” Akane admits. The last half of his undressing is much less elegant but consequently faster than the first; he’s kicking his foot free of his dropped clothes and stepping in towards the bed in one motion, reaching out for Clay’s shoulder so he can come in and straddle the other boy’s lap. Clay is grinning before Akane is entirely over him, the lopsided curve of his mouth that says he’s not thinking at all, is reacting on impulse without any deliberation at all. He turns his head up for a kiss, expectant and pliant as Akane rocks in close to bump his length against Clay’s stomach, dips his head to brush his mouth over the blond’s mouth.

“Okay,” he says without pulling away, just as Clay’s eyes are fluttering shut and he’s starting to sigh in satisfaction. “Now, Clay, transform.”

“What?” Clay blinks his eyes open, leans away from Akane’s mouth. “ _Now_?”

“You heard me.”

“But.” Clay huff wordless protest, rocks up in unthought anxiety. “But I don’t  _want_  to, I can’t feel you when--”

“ _Transform_ ” Akane orders, his voice snapping sharp with command, and the resistance of Clay’s body flickers out under him, forms itself instead into the weight of a sword Akane catches without losing his balance over his knees.

 _This is stupid, Akane_ , Clay’s voice comes clear as soon as Akane’s fingers touch metal.  _I can’t touch you like this and I--_

Akane swings the weight around, a smooth arc through the air that stops the flow of Clay’s words, and does what he’s  _wanted_  to do since he first saw the blond’s weapon form, and slicks his tongue up along the smooth black of the flat of the blade.

 _A_ ka _ne!_  Clay wails, sounding scandalized and startled, and Akane forms his lips into a kiss instead, shuts his eyes so he can feel the eerie human-warmth of the metal under his lips.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he says, so soft he almost doesn’t hear the words. He doesn’t have to speak to convey his point, not with Clay in the back of his head -- the words are just for the faint friction of his lips dragging against the weapon, just for the shudder in the exhale he can hear in the back of his head.

 _And not in human form?_  Clay asks. It’s a thin attempt at teasing, worn threadbare by the tremor under his voice.

“Both,” Akane purrs, and lets himself topple sideways onto the mattress. He know without asking that Clay’s dulled the edges that can be razor-sharp when he wants them to be, the same way he does when Akane wants to swing him up and angled across the meister’s shoulders. In human form Clay has the advantage of a few inches; like this Akane has the edge, though only barely. Clay’s blade is nearly as wide across as his palm, smooth as only metal can be and warming quick in response to how fast Akane’s breath is coming, like Clay’s blush is transitioning across the transformation as well.

“Is this okay?” Akane asks around his smile. He’s nearly atop Clay, now, sprawled out over the bed and across the weapon so he can feel the whole line of the blade pressing against him from knee to shoulder. He reaches out sideways, fumbles over the top of the dresser while Clay is distracted with trying to form an answer.

 _I still can’t feel you_ , and Akane can hear the pout, can almost see the downward slant of the blond’s lips on the words.

“You can,” Akane says, swinging his arm back so he can push at the lid of the bottle with his thumb. “Can’t you feel the way you feel against me?”

He lets Clay think about that for a minute, follow through the convoluted telepathy offered by this form while Akane gets his fingers slick in the absence of the other’s attention. Then he has it, can rock up on an elbow and dig his hips down to press himself against the resistance of the weapon; he can hear the mutter of Clay’s thoughts derail into a whimper, is laughing as he gets his hand twisted behind him.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he whispers, like it’s a secret, like he’s whispering it into Clay’s ear instead of directly into his mind. “Can you tell?”

 _Jesus, Akane_ , and Clay sounds flustered and nervous and shaky, his words trembling into Akane’s thoughts as the meister curls his fingers around the hilt of the sword to stabilize the connection.  _This is_ weird _, Akane, I can feel your body better than I can my own_.

“Good,” Akane says. “Pay attention,” and he starts to push his fingers inside himself.

 _O_ h  _my god_ , Clay chokes.  _Akane oh my god what are you_ doing _?_

“Can’t you tell?” Akane asks, though the teasing tone is somewhat undermined by the strain in his voice as he stretches himself open. He’s rocking down without meaning to, he can feel the body-warm metal going slick against the press of his cock as he grinds against it. “I’m getting off to your weapon form.”

 _Jesus christ Akane_. Akane can feel Clay’s mind reeling out into embarrassment, the heat from self-consciousness flushing even his weapon form warmer while the secondhand arousal from Akane’s mind catches in his breath.  _Can’t I turn back yet?_

Akane shakes his head, tips his forehead down so he can pant against the geometrical inset in the sword’s hilt. “Not yet, Clay.”

 _Akane, I can feel_ exactly  _what you’re doing to yourself and I--_  Akane’s fingers slip in the last inch, press up against sensitive nerve endings, and he opens his mouth to gasp for air as Clay moans in the back of his head.  _Nng. I’m going to turn back I swear I will_.

“Not yet,” Akane repeats, and he shuts his eyes and starts to thrust in earnest. He can hear the ragged edge of Clay’s breathing in the back of his head, the warm not-enough friction rubbing against his cock, and every time he pushes his fingers in he gets a little more depth, a slightly better angle. It’s pushing him warmer, flushing his skin hotter, and he would swear Clay is glowing under him, matching every rush of heat until he can’t tell the difference between skin and smooth metal anymore. Clay’s whimpering on every motion, responding to the slip of Akane’s fingers as if it’s the blond’s body shuddering in reaction to the meister’s movements, and it starts to bleed together, the burn of attention in Akane’s blood and the gasp of Clay’s breathing in his head and the slick friction of fingers drawing intrusive pleasure out into his body.

“Okay,” he finally says, “change back” but he doesn’t finish the sentence before Clay is materializing on the sheets underneath him, grabbing at his shoulder and wrist and pushing him sideways so he loses his balance and his rhythm both.

“ _Finally_ ” he blurts as Akane slides his fingers free and reaches out to close his slippery palm around the other boy’s cock instead. “Oh god, fuck, Akane. I thought you were gonna keep going until you came on me,”

“Don’t tempt me,” Akane manages, and Clay laughs, comes up onto his knees as Akane rolls over onto his stomach without needing to coordinate, relying instead on the holdover synchronization from the shared mental space of weapon form. Akane tips his hips up, Clay fits his knees between the meister’s, and they don’t even have to pause to line up together; they just fit, Clay sliding forward like he was made to be here and Akane’s body thrumming in instant response while he groans against the sheets.

“God, Akane.” Clay’s rocking into a rhythm, falling into time with Akane’s breathing so quickly it has to be instinct guiding him more than deliberation. When he leans forward his mouth lands on shoulder, his finger catch and tangle with the meister’s. “Does it feel like that every time?”

“Better,” Akane admits. He has to make a fist of the sheets with his free hand to keep from giving into temptation. “Clay,  _touch_  me, please.”

“You’re not going to last,” Clay points out.

“Neither are you.” That makes the blond laugh, the amusement shattering into too-fast breathing, and he shifts his weight and Akane is bracing himself for contact even before fingers brush against his cock as Clay feels his way into a steady grip.

“I bet I beat you,” Akane says against the sheets, and Clay groans and strokes up over him. Akane’s whole body shudders, his vision veers towards white, and for a moment he thinks he’s lost before coherency fades back in around him and he takes one more focused inhale.

“Only because you have a weird weapon kink,” Clay says, his voice dropping low and resonant with amusement, and Akane can’t muster the strength to lie through a denial before the blond pulls over him again. This time he knows he’s going, he can feel inevitability in the stutter of his breathing and the tension catching hot at his spine, and Clay thrusts as far into him as he can go and Akane’s existence comes apart into heat and light and radiant pleasure.

Clay’s still moving when Akane comes back together, keeping up the smooth rhythm he knows the meister likes, but the fingers entangled with the other boy’s are tensing, Akane can hear the effort the even pace is costing him.

“Clay,” he says, carefully, and then he rocks his weight back a half-inch and Clay is groaning, thrusting forward as hard as he can once and twice and his rhythm is gone, his motions are stuttering and he’s wailing Akane’s name, and Akane doesn’t need the weapon-connection to feel the rush of tension flooding out of the blond’s body as he comes.

Neither of them move for a few minutes, except for Clay to fit himself in against Akane’s back and gently pin the other boy to the bed. Akane’s glasses as pushed askew by the angle of his face against the mattress and he can’t be bothered to care; everything is warm and languid and perfect, as it always is with Clay this close to him. The blond in question has his face against Akane’s shoulder, his breath blowing warm against the meister’s skin, and Akane is fairly certain that left to his own devices he will fall asleep in a matter of minutes.

“I told you,” he says aloud, just as Clay’s inhales are starting to stretch and slow.

“Mm?” A tiny jolt as the weapon comes back to full consciousness. “What?”

“I told you so.” Akane glances sideways, flashes a grin at the blond. “It was a good idea.”

He can see the recognition slowly dawn across the blond’s face, is laughing well before Clay offers incoherent protest and shoves at his shoulder. Then Clay starts laughing too, his whole face lighting up with sincerity until he’s shining like the sun, and Akane lets the warmth of that expression wash over his skin.

It  _was_  a good idea. Akane’s ideas always are.


End file.
